


Not Keeping Score

by onionrings_andhoneymustard



Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26395324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onionrings_andhoneymustard/pseuds/onionrings_andhoneymustard
Summary: "Why are you being so nice to me?""I'm a nice person." Judd shoots him a smile over his shoulder. "Besides that, I like you.""I'm going to make you regret being so nice to me." T.K. states, like it's an inevitability. Like they haven't had this conversation half-a-dozen times. "I've told you before that I'm a mess - last night was nothing.""And I've told you before that you can't make me do anything. I know what I signed up for."Dedicated to my dear friend @streetlightslongnights, who gave me the idea and some of T.K.'s dialogue.
Relationships: Judd Ryder/TK Strand
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45





	Not Keeping Score

Judd answers his phone on the second ring with, "T.K.? What's up?"

T.K. can hear the concern floating beneath the surface of the question, and the part of his brain that's operational floods with regret. He shouldn't have called - he never calls; he always texts. He shouldn't have called. 

In his ear, Judd's voice quietly prompts, "T.K.?"

_Right._ He clears his throat. "Are you- Are you busy?"

"Nope. What do you need?" Judd’s voice is nice and easy. It always is when he talks to him these days - ever since they started doing this song and dance that's an awful lot like dating, just without the title or the physical intimacy. He didn't notice it for a long time, not until Paul pointed it out, and it makes his heart flutter in the base of his throat whenever he thinks about it. 

"Can you come pick me up? I- I need a ride."

"Sure," Judd agrees without hesitation. "Just need to put on my shoes and I'll be right there. Where are you?"

"The, uh…" T.K. shifts his weight, rubbing a hand across his eyes. Part of him feels like crying; he hates that. "The Firehouse Lounge."

"You got it." He hears Judd shuffling around. "I'm grabbing my keys. I should be there in fifteen minutes. Alright?"

"Alright. And Judd?"

"Yeah?"

T.K. swallows around the lump threatening to form in his throat. He doesn't want to say it, but he has to. "I'm kind of drunk. And I kind of got my ass kicked."

There's a brief silence on the other end of the line. T.K. braces himself for disappointment, but Judd’s voice is still dipped in honey when he says, "Thanks for the heads up."

\-----

Judd is able to pull up where T.K. is standing on the sidewalk in front of the bar, rolling down the passenger-side window and yelling, "Hey, T.K.! Get in."

T.K. climbs into the truck with the wobbly-looseness typical of both toddlers and drunk people. His shirt is rumpled and the collar torn, dark blood drying in his nostrils. "Thanks for coming."

"No problem. The water's for you." Judd gestures to a plastic bottle in one of the cupholders. 

"Thanks." T.K. grabs it, twisting off the cap and taking a long swallow, acutely aware of Judd’s eyes on him. Replacing the cap, he buckles the seatbelt and turns his face toward the window, water bottle clutched in his hands. 

"You don't look too bad."

T.K. shrugs wordlessly, pressing his fingertips into the sides of the water bottle to make it crinkle.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Judd asks, looking over his shoulder as he signals and pulls away from the curb.

"Not really."

So they don't, driving in silence to Judd’s house. It's an assumption on the older man's part - that T.K. won't want to go back to his dad's place and that he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. T.K. doesn't protest when they pull into the driveway, simply unbuckling and sliding gracelessly out of the truck.

Once inside, T.K. says, "I can sleep on the couch."

Judd hangs his keys on a hook by the door, toeing off his shoes. "Nonsense. You can sleep in my bed. It's a king, so there's plenty of room for us both." 

He opens his mouth to argue, but Judd is already walking away from him and down the hallway. Snapping his mouth shut, he follows, stopping short in the doorway. He's never seen Judd’s bedroom before, and it feels vaguely intimate to even step inside. Watching Judd move the pillows around and pull back the comforter, he asks, "Which side do you sleep on?"

Judd looks up. "This one."

T.K. nods. Looking around, he takes in the framed photos on the dresser, the blue hand towels he can see through the open bathroom door, the shoes lined up against the far wall.

Judd straightens, resting his hands on his hips. "Well, I'm pretty tuckered, so I'm going to change into pajamas and go to bed. You staying up, or are you coming to bed now?"

"Coming to bed." T.K. decides, finally stepping into the room. Setting the water bottle and his phone on the nightstand next to his side, he begins to undress. When he gets to the buttons of his shirt, he pauses. "Hey, Judd? Can I borrow a shirt to sleep in?"

"Sure." Judd digs one out of his dresser, bringing it to T.K.. It's dark red and well-loved, soft from countless washes and smelling faintly like laundry detergent. It makes T.K.’s heart swell a little in his chest - the way Judd accepts and gives so easily, barely questioning the requests. Judd is so goddamn _nice_ to him, all the time; it's simultaneously the best and the worst thing. 

"Thanks." T.K. shrugs off his shirt, pulling Judd's over his head. It hangs loosely on his slim frame, yet still manages to feel like a hug.

\-----

In the morning, T.K. sips coffee as Judd makes pancakes from scratch. He used to make them for his wife every Sunday morning when they were still together and both home, he tells T.K. as he melts butter in the frying pan. "I've made them so many times I don't even need to look at the recipe."

T.K. hums his acknowledgment, quickly following it up with the question he can't help but ask every so often: "Why are you being so nice to me?" 

"I'm a nice person." Judd shoots him a smile over his shoulder. "Besides that, I like you."

"I'm going to make you regret being so nice to me." T.K. states, like it's an inevitability. Like they haven't had this conversation half-a-dozen times. "I've told you before that I'm a mess - last night was nothing."

"And I've told you before that you can't make me do anything. I know what I signed up for." Judd watches the bubbles form on the surface of the pancake, turning it gently. "Speaking of last night: Did you already check yourself for bruises, or do you need someone to help you with that?"

"There's a bruise on my ribs." T.K. shrugs. "But I'm fine."

Judd places the first pancake on the table in front of him, giving him a pointed look. "I was asking because I'm trying to get naked with you."

T.K.'s hand stops midway to the syrup. "Oh."

"I figured," Judd continues casually, turning back to the stove. "I need a shower, you need a shower… We can shower together."

"Right." T.K. nods. They haven't seen each other naked yet. Not since this… this _thing_ between them began. "Save water, save the environment. Smart."

Judd points at him with the spatula. "Exactly."

\-----

T.K. feels oddly self-conscious stepping into the shower with Judd, like he's peeling off a layer of his skin as he does so. There's a part of him that's still embarrassed about the night before, that keeps waiting for the shoe to drop - for Judd to mention his sobriety and how it's broken and what is he going to tell his dad?

"I can see you thinking," Judd murmurs, taking him by the biceps and maneuvering him beneath the hot water. "What are you thinking about?"

T.K. closes his eyes, tipping his head back. It's easier, now that he's not looking at him. "I keep waiting for you to ask about last night."

"I thought you didn't want to talk about it?"

"I don't."

"There you go." He feels Judd's fingers run carefully through his hair a few times before they disappear and there's a _click_ from somewhere in front of T.K.. "That's why I haven't asked."

"Oh." Then Judd's hands are back, smelling like mint and cedar as his fingertips scrub purposely at T.K.'s scalp. It takes a moment for T.K. to put it together. "Are you washing my hair?"

"Mmhmm." Judd scritches behind T.K.'s ears with his nails, thumbs ghosting over his temples.

"Why?"

"To take care of you."

All T.K. can think to say back is, " _Oh_. Thank you."

He lets Judd finish the job - rinsing out the shampoo and working conditioner into the ends of his hair; turning him all around as Judd gently washes him with soap that smells like coconut and mango, fingertips skimming the bruise on his ribs; rinsing out the conditioner.

It's strange, having someone else wash his body. It's sweet, too, experiencing this kindness and attention. So sweet, it almost overwhelms him. When Judd kisses his forehead after he's done, T.K. grabs for him blindly, fingers wrapping around Judd's forearm. He feels Judd try to take a step back, testing the grip; he tightens it.

"I've been having a really good time with you lately," he says, keeping his eyes closed. There's a weight on his chest and the words feel thick in his mouth, like he has to use his tongue to extricate them. "It's been so good. I keep… I keep waiting for something to go wrong."

"Like what?" Judd asks quietly.

T.K. shrugs helplessly. Articulating the feelings of anxiety and impending doom feel impossible, but he'll try to do it for Judd. He'll try if it means keeping whatever this is.

He squeezes Judd's arm, blinking his eyes open. "I don't know. Whenever things start to go well for me, I… I can't handle it. I find a way to sabotage it. Things have been going so well, I had to remind myself that things can still go really bad - badly? bad? - badly," he decides. "That I can still get hurt."

"That's why you got drunk and picked a fight?"

"Yeah." It sounds silly, saying it outloud. "It made sense at the time."

"I'm not judging," Judd's tone is gentle, and he looks at T.K. for a long moment before he speaks again. "Here's the thing: At some point you're going to have to accept that things can be good for you. The bad will show up naturally on its own - you don't have to go looking for it."

"Gee, thanks."

"I'm serious. That's just how life is. If you don't trust me, at least have some faith in the universe. Bad things happen and then good things happen, and so on. Case in point: My life got turned upside down - to put it mildly - and then six months later, your punk ass came into it."

"You shouldn't joke about it." T.K. ducks his head to hide the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Rubbing his thumb down the veins in Judd's forearm, he weaves their fingers together and gives a squeeze. 

Judd squeezes back. "It's my trauma. Today I feel like joking about it, to prove a point and to make you smile."

They fall silent, the noise from the shower occupying the space between them. T.K. isn't sure how he feels. The anxiety is still hanging around the edges of his rib cage, but there's a certain calmness filling the space in between. "Okay."

"Okay?" Judd squeezes again. "You're going to trust me and let the bad come find you from now on? Not the other way around?"

T.K. smiles ruefully, looking up at him. "Yeah."

"Good. That's what I like to hear." Judd drops his hand. "Now move out of the way. You're using up all the hot water and I haven't showered yet."

**Author's Note:**

> “Love is the product of how you respond … Love is showing your partner they’re safe, you’ll catch them if they fall, and you’ll drop everything if they need you. Love is unconditional. Love doesn’t keep score.” ― Shane Parrish


End file.
